That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."

Earth helped him with the cry of blood.

Small service is true service, while it lasts.

The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.